


Creature Discomforts

by kinkandquiet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Body Worship, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Desperation, Established Relationship, Kink, M/M, Omorashi, Past Hurt/Present Comfort, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13004748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkandquiet/pseuds/kinkandquiet
Summary: Bucky is uncomfortable.Steve isn't going to let that stand.(Or: Steve gives Bucky a blowjob when Bucky's desperate to pee.)





	Creature Discomforts

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I fall in love with a new fandom the plot bunnies say to me: "Do you know what this needs? More pee!" Forgive me, internet.
> 
> From lurking tumblr, I've learned that some readers dislike elements of watersports in their omorashi stories. If that is true for you, please see the summary again. I blame Steve. Steve is definitely to blame here.

The hallway was long and empty, extending deep into the mountainside. It put Steve on edge, walking through the rooms Hydra built. Even when they were as innocuous as this place, it was as if he could feel their corrupted nature. He tried not to think how much worse it was for Bucky, but he'd never been good at keeping his mind off a track it had put itself on.

It was too soon, he kept telling himself. It was always going to be too soon.

“We still all good, Bucky?”

“Feels like I'm playin’ house.” Bucky’s voice came from a few steps further back than expected. Steve stopped and turned around.

Bucky didn't look bored. He didn’t look relaxed, either. There was rigidity in the broad line of his shoulders and strain around his thin-pressed lips. His posture radiated the wrong kind of tension.

“What?” Bucky straightened under Steve’s assessing gaze, his chin tilting.

“You always wanted me to be the wife. When we played house with your sisters.”

“I don't remember that.” Bucky looked away and rubbed the back of his neck: he definitely remembered that.

Steve snorted.

He waited for Bucky to take two steps, putting him at Steve’s back where he belonged, before Steve led them forward.

It wasn’t Bucky’s first op since coming in, but it was the first one they planned on letting anyone find out about. Bucky claimed that Steve’s Avengers needed to see he could be stable. (That was what he called them: 'Steve’s Avengers.' He just looked tolerant when Steve tried to explain it wasn't like that.)

Their first step was to show that the former Winter Soldier could walk into a Hydra base and walk out with useful intel and zero collateral damage. Never mind that the base (data center, Bucky said) was long abandoned. Never mind that the Avengers had never been particularly good at avoiding collateral damage themselves. (Bucky just looked tolerant when Steve tried to explain that, too.)

Whether it was empty or not, whether it was a base or a data center or a movie theater, it was still Hydra. Every footstep echoing in the hallway made Steve more aware of how vulnerable he'd let them be. There was no backup if anything went wrong. They weren’t wearing comms. They were kitted out, but Steve suspected Bucky was carrying fewer weapons than he would have carried to an actual movie theater.

Steve felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He kept walking. It was as close to a zero-risk operation as anything could be. The only real danger here were the explosive they'd planted themselves. He kept an ear out for anything unusual, but he only heard Bucky’s footsteps as he started to lag behind again.

Abruptly, Steve stopped. That _was_ unusual.

“Report.”

Bucky was frowning as he slipped back into position. “Functional."

Steve clucked his tongue. Bucky glanced over.

“It’s a cakewalk, Steve. Whaddya want?”

Steve wanted Bucky to feel safe. He wanted the tension to drain from Bucky's shoulders. He wanted to see the lines around Bucky's eyes smooth away. He wanted Bucky to smile, that beaming thing that Steve only learned Bucky's face could do after Steve had kissed him for the first time in seventy years. He wanted-- But he didn’t expect anything he wanted from a mission in a Hydra base, even if it was a cakewalk. He wasn’t _stupid_.

Now that they were facing each other, Steve became aware that it wasn’t just Bucky’s shoulders that were stiff. He was standing ramrod straight, the kind of straight you had to be taught, and his feet were shoulder width apart, his gaze steady and flat over Steve’s shoulder.

“Something isn’t right,” Steve said.

Bucky's muscles rippled, his blue eyes sharp like a big cat watching its prey. There was a long knife in his hand.

Steve really was stupid.

“No, not that,” Steve blurted. “Not the mission. I meant… You don’t seem all right.”

After a wary moment, Bucky folded the knife away. “Lots of things aren’t right with me.”

“You're sweating.”

Very slowly, Bucky tilted his head. His eyes had gone blank.

“That a problem?” Bucky's mouth was set in a firm line Steve remembered from the army. He'd always looked like that when he was about to be reprimanded.

He hadn’t meant it as a criticism. Steve trusted Bucky’s instincts as much as he trusted his own.

Bucky had been sweating on the motorcycle ride from hotel to Hydra base, his body pressed up against Steve’s back and his breath just this side of too warm on Steve's neck. Bucky’s distress made every one of Steve’s instincts itch and twinge, trying to force him into a state of high alert that he knew would throw them both into a feedback loop of pointless nerves.

“It’s making me edgy.” All at once Steve felt ridiculous: standing in the loins of a mountain, empty as a crypt, and whining that Bucky’s nerves were getting on _his_ nerves. He gave Bucky a chastised smile. “Sorry, no. It’s not a problem. Let's keep moving.”

His face still empty of expression, Bucky nodded sharply. He rolled his shoulders, the servos in his arm re-calibrating, but Steve didn’t think he relaxed any. A moment later Bucky wiped his damp forehead with his sleeve.

_Nice work, Rogers. His sweating makes you ‘edgy’? What’s he supposed to do about that?_

The awful part was, Steve never quite knew when Bucky was in a state where he actually would try to stop himself from sweating, hearing orders where there had only been awkwardness.

After that, Bucky maintained position with the strict kind of precision he was capable of. Steve listened to his measured footsteps, wondering why they were measured but knowing better than to ask again. Together they turned over old offices, stocking up on the hard drives that hadn't already been taken and trashing everything else. The explosives on the bottom floor would be enough to send the whole place up in flames.

It was fifty-five minutes later when Bucky fell behind again. Steve had forgotten his earlier concern. This place really was empty. If they found anything useful he'd honestly be surprised, but that wasn’t what today was about.

His back didn't need watching from dust bunnies, so when he heard the stumble in Bucky’s measured steps he let Bucky fall back without comment. It was only when Steve reached a door into a perpendicular hallway that he looked back and saw that Bucky wasn't following him at all anymore.

He looked severely out of place, a statue of sleek black and metal standing rigidly in the middle of the dusty gray halls. Steve stepped towards him, a wrinkle between his brows.

“Something wrong?”

It was as if Steve hadn't spoken. Bucky stood at attention, his metal hand clenched into a fist while the other was carefully, ruthlessly lax at his side. Sweat shined on his temples. His lank hair couldn't quite hide the way his jaw moved from gritting his teeth.

As Steve watched, Bucky's weight shifted from one foot to the other. His expression only went more blank.

“Look. You don't have to tell me what you're thinking. But you know that you can, right? I'll listen.” Since Bucky's return, Steve had gotten good at sounding gentle when he was angry. It was a real useful skill. Everything that had been done to Bucky enraged him, and everything about Bucky now called for a gentleness that Steve was only just developing.

Bucky’s chin jerked further down, his silence an answer in itself.

Steve set his jaw. He nodded. He didn’t let it go, but he did turn around and head for the door.

They made it eleven steps.

Steve spun around at the bodily _thump_ , adrenaline rushing, shield in hand.

They were alone. They were still alone. Bucky was leaning on the wall, his metal arm propping him up and the other crooked over his eyes, hiding his face from view.

It didn’t look like he’d tripped. Bucky’s left foot was still dead center and pointing forward, but his right leg was crossed over it. It looked like he’d meant to take a step forward and put his foot down in the wrong place.

Steve felt his eyebrows go up.

Arm still protecting his face, Bucky moved to untangle his legs, stomping his right foot like he was angry at it for not following orders. Steve waited, but Bucky didn't pick his head up from the wall or move the arm blocking it, so he just looked a new kind of bizarre, feet together but his body bent at the hips.

He wasn’t hurt. Bucky hadn’t been hurt that morning when they’d left the hotel. He hadn’t been hurt on the ride over, even if Steve could feel the unusual warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against his back. He hadn't been hurt here, in this empty base. Steve would have _noticed_.

Then Bucky made a pained noise in the back of his throat, so quiet it was only Steve’s enhanced hearing that caught it.

Just like that, Steve's self-control shattered to the floor and he launched himself right over the metaphorical pieces. He was practically on top of Bucky before he’d realized he'd moved, and it was only much later that Steve thought about how Bucky _hadn’t flinched_ and felt warm all over.

In the moment, he moved his hands uselessly in the air around Bucky’s shoulders, barely having stopped himself from touching without asking. Even with his arm protecting his face, Steve could see that Bucky was red with exertion. Steve's mouth went dry, which made him wonder.

“Hey, pal. Have you been drinking water?”

Bucky had been sweating for so long now, he could have been dehydrated. Dehydration could have made him feel weak, perhaps even to the point of collapsing against the wall. That was fixable. Steve could fix it. He fumbled around in the backpack, which he’d managed to liberate from Bucky while they were still placing explosives on the first floor, and came up with a water bottle. An empty water bottle.

“No running water.” Bucky’s voice was clipped and monotone.

Steve silently cursed. “Then we’ll head back. You're not looking so good.”

As soon as he said it, Steve could see it was a mistake. Bucky lifted himself off the wall in a fluid motion. His arm swiped across his face, revealing flushed skin and tight lines, and he swiveled his weight onto his heels, shoulder width apart. His metal hand unclenched, the arm silent. Before Steve had a chance to argue, Bucky moved around him with painful precision, each movement practiced and careful in a way that spoke volumes about the conscious control he was exerting over his body.

“You oughta rest if you’re feeling bad.”

“We aren’t finished.” Bucky’s measured, heavy steps took him into the nearest office.

Steve followed, concerned but curious. Bucky was moving more forcefully now, his tactical boots coming down hard on the old floors. He stopped at the desk chair, hands gripping the back as he dropped his head, his lower body rigid. Sweat dripped from his nose.

As Steve watched with a crease between his brows, Bucky’s wooden posture radiated strain. The chair creaked and bent under his metal hand. In a rare display of emotion, Bucky spat angrily in Russian, a high note creeping into his tone before he stopped abruptly. All the while, he held himself still and gripped the chair.

“You wanna sit down?”

Bucky’s whole body jerked. The chair smashed into the wall.

“You don’t wanna sit down.” Steve’s voice was as dry as the white dust pluming from the drywall.

“ _Steve._ ”

It wasn’t often Steve heard real emotion in Bucky’s voice these days, but the frustration was sure familiar. His mouth quirked. “ _Buck_.”

Bucky groaned in response, pacing back and forth in the cubicle. His nostrils flared, his eyes a little red and wide, his face flushed and sweaty. He paced like an animal in a cage and then he stopped, standing straight-backed in front of Steve, not meeting his eyes but looking over Steve’s shoulder.

Obligingly, Steve stepped out of his way and held the door open. Bucky didn’t seem like he felt weak now. Instead, he was full of too much energy, pent up and unable to fight it out. Maybe it was the emptiness of the place. Maybe Bucky needed a Hydra agent or two to fight. Steve could certainly understand that.

In the hallway, Bucky paced a short circuit. Deciding for the moment that anyone dangerously dehydrated couldn’t have that much energy, Steve leaned against the wall and watched with his arms crossed over his chest.

The more Bucky paced, the more agitated he seemed. His arm whirred at an alarming volume, and the fingers of his right hand caught intermittently in the stands of his hair before squeezing his thigh instead, like he couldn’t figure out what to do with his limbs. His steps became erratic, legs twisting.

Just when Steve had opened his mouth to ask what bothering him now, Bucky stopped. He silenced his arm, straightened his back, and widened his stance. Finally, his fingers unclasped from his thigh.

“Okay. I got it. Okay. I can keep going.”

“Got _what_?”

In response, Bucky just dipped his chin, hair falling like a curtain over his face.

There was no way Steve was letting it go this time. He pushed off from the wall and tucked himself into Bucky's space, his hands hovering without touching. When Bucky grunted assent, Steve cradled Bucky's hips with his hands. Even with how tense Bucky looked, Steve was surprised by the rigidity of the muscles under his fingers.

Still Bucky wasn't meeting Steve's eyes. Up close, Steve could see the sweat beading on his upper lip. Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat, frustration and something more urgent.

“I'm here.” Steve let his right hand travel up Bucky’s flank over his shirt, feeling his muscles straining. "Anything you need. I'm right here."

“Shit, Steve. It's nothin'.”

“Sure doesn't look like nothing.” Steve could feel now that Bucky wasn’t just tense--he was trembling. “You’re shaking.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. He stopped himself from trembling. Then his expression crumpled. Air rushed out of his lungs. He doubled over and--touched Steve’s dick?

Steve paused.

That…

Well.

He wasn't gonna say _no_.

When Steve looked down he almost did a double take. Their bodies were close together, but it hadn’t been Steve that Bucky had meant to touch. Bucky’s flesh hand was buried in his crotch, his fingers curled so tightly into the material it was clear he was gripping his dick. His face was dark red now, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His hips hitched into his fist, breath catching.

Bucky was clutching himself like a little boy.

The tension drained out of Steve’s body so quickly it left him dizzy.

“Goddamn, Bucky.” Steve’s tone came out with more censure than he’d really intended. “You scared me.”

Bucky made a pained noise that still somehow sounded apologetic.

Steve’s first instinct was to tease--his first instinct was always to tease--but too many of Bucky’s odd behaviors in the 21st century were informed by trauma. So Steve didn’t tease, and Bucky didn’t explain, and they stood there, hunched together, while neither of them quite gathered themselves. Bucky’s hot breaths came in gasps against Steve’s skin, his body bent so far forward that his forehead brushed Steve’s chest. Steve stared down at the hunched line of Bucky’s spine and wondered.

Eventually, Steve took charge and extricated himself.

“All right. Take a minute.”

“Don't need one.”

Steve snorted. “So take five. I wasn't planning on counting.”

Even as understanding slotted into place, Steve was left confused. Bucky had been tense and sweating and apparently trying not to piss his tactical pants for hours, even before they’d arrived at the data center. They hadn’t made any rest stops on the ride over, but Bucky could have asked. Of course he could have asked. Did Bucky not know he could ask?

Bucky straightened up to frown at Steve properly, but as soon as he did his glare melted into something deferential that made Steve’s chest hurt.

“I won’t fall out of position again. I can do better. I'll do better, okay, Stevie?” Bucky was still gripping the front of his pants.

“Bucky, no. You're allowed to call for a break. You know that, right? I’m real sorry. I should have been checking in with you better.”

Bucky's jaw tightened. “No reason for a break. It's a simple fetch mission.”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, wondering when the hell Bucky got shy. “But you need to pee.”

Bucky didn't react like he was shy. He didn't flinch or blush, though his face was red from exertion and damp with sweat. He just kept holding himself.

“It’s manageable.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up.

“It’s not… I’m not impaired. I’m overreacting.” Bucky straightened up with fierce control, his hand pulling away from his crotch and his arms coming to rest at his sides. He made himself spread his feet even as his face twinged with discomfort. “I can do this. I just. I gotta stop overreacting.”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice around the anger in his chest. _Overreacting_. Bucky Barnes, overreacting. If Bucky was letting a full bladder impact his performance, Steve didn’t doubt anyone else, himself included, would have wet their pants an hour ago and been glad for it. Who had told Bucky he was overreacting, this man who hardly let the most benign emotion show on his face? Steve could imagine it too easily: Bucky howling and fighting restraints as his body was used like a cadaver for over eager scientists and Alexander Pierce loomed, saying soft and reasonable, _you really must stop overreacting, soldier._

It took Steve more than a moment. By the time he’d found his voice, Bucky had started 'overreacting' again. His knees were bent and his legs bowed, his body contorting around his midsection. His right hand was kneading and pinching at the front of his pants. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, something Steve hadn't seen him do since the 1930s.

Steve forced himself to breathe. He forced himself not to shout.

“You are authorized to take a leak. You are always authorized to take care of yourself, all right?”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving sound. Even as Bucky held himself mercilessly still, Steve could see the way his muscles reacted to something internal, his body locked in place as each muscle quivered under the strain. He jaw clamped and his breath caught. All through it, Bucky gripped himself and made no sound. Steve wondered what the hell Bucky thought 'manageable' was.

“Should I turn my back?” Steve asked when Bucky finally gasped for air. He'd never known Bucky to care about things like that, but he still wasn't unzipping.

“I ain't gonna piss on the floor.” Bucky sounded unnecessarily offended. “I’m not some animal.”

Steve almost said something stupid. It was a Hydra base, why wouldn’t Bucky want to piss on it? Piss on it and set it on fire. It seemed fitting. But before he finished the thought he’d already had several horrible, visceral examples of 'why' flash in front of his eyes. The possibilities made him sick and he wished he hadn’t had the thought at all. He was glad he hadn’t asked it.

Then his anger turned into something else. His face ached before he realized he was smiling.

Because after Bucky had come home, he’d gone from believing Hydra’s brainwashing, thinking of himself as a weapon and a thing, to a strange kind of relativism. Humans were animals, so if Bucky was human, that meant he was as much an animal as Mrs. Humphrey's wandering cat. Or roadkill.

Which was... fine. Steve was trying to be fine with it. Bucky was allowed his own philosophy. Though maybe they ought to become vegetarians.

Then Clint dropped by. He'd just adopted a stray dog and he was trying to teach it to stay off Steve and Bucky's second-hand furniture. The dog hadn't learned, but Bucky had. Suddenly he was back to week one, curled up on the floor in the corner and ready to be disciplined. Steve had to ask Clint to leave.

Steve knew it would pass. He took to sitting on the floor again too so Bucky would stop huddling at his feet. He was still ashamed that it took him so long to figure out Bucky wasn’t eating right anymore. After seeing the dog, Bucky got it into his head that he shouldn’t be eating at the dinner table. It fostered bad habits, he said. Dogs shouldn’t be begging when their owners were eating.

Steve had been so angry he’d nearly cried. Then he’d made pancakes and sat on the floor with Bucky while he practically inhaled them.

If today was the day Bucky decided he wasn't just an animal, Steve wasn't going to be the jackass who argued with him.

“You’re right you’re not.” Steve clasped Bucky’s shoulder, resisting the urge to pull him into a hug.

He wasn’t entirely successful.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve blurted a second later.

Bucky paused on the inhale. He watched Steve out of the corner of his eye.

“Here.” Steve pressed his fingertip to Bucky’s jaw, then to the edge of his brow. “And here?”

Bucky’s skin was a little warm, a little damp. He blinked at Steve.

Steve swallowed against the wave of emotion that washed over him. He loved Bucky so goddamn much. He drew his fingertip down to brush Bucky's lower lip. “Yeah?”

Bucky ducked his head. “If you wanna.”

Steve pressed his delight into Bucky’s flushed skin. He kissed methodically: jaw, brow, and lip, until there could be no doubts in Bucky’s mind. Eventually Bucky swayed and Steve had to stop and steady him. He ended up supporting a surprising amount of Bucky’s weight.

When they pulled apart, Steve was grinning and Bucky was sweating hard.

As soon as Steve let go of him, Bucky's hand darted to his crotch, kneading furiously while his legs tangled together and his thighs clamped. His expression was pinched, and Steve could see a muscle in his jaw fluttering. It made his stomach twist.

"Aw, Buck."

It wasn't right, Bucky being so uncomfortable. Steve ought to be doing something. He ought to be making it right. Because if Bucky wasn’t going to piss on the floor, and Steve wasn’t going to argue with him, then Bucky just _wasn’t going to piss_. Only he couldn't keep that up forever. Steve knew damn well that if Bucky was letting his desperation show, it was only because he couldn't help it anymore.

He'd been like that during the war and it had only gotten worse after Hydra. Steve was always doing his internal conversions for Bucky. A two on Bucky's pain scale was a ten for the medic. A limp in Bucky's step meant another soldier would no longer be walking. The brush of Bucky's fingers against Steve's cheek was nearly a proposal. And this, Bucky silent and squeezing his genitals, easily translated to urgent cries of _'I'm going to piss myself!'_

How would Bucky respond to a loss of control like that right now? As soon as Steve had wondered it, he didn't want to know the answer. He didn’t want _Bucky_ to know. But Bucky was starting to rock from foot to foot, his back and shoulders unyielding as steel but the muscles of his thighs shaking with fatigue. He hobbled as if to start walking again but his foot stamped back down almost as soon as he'd lifted it. The careful, consistent blankness of his expression gave way to something needy and a little panicked. And goddamn it, Steve just wanted to cover him in love.

“Hey, we’re taking that break now. Come on and sit down. Don't push yourself.”

Steve's words inspired the opposite of their intended effect. Through sheer, single-minded stubbornness, Bucky forced his body back under control. He straightened, wet his lips, caught his breath, and took a measured step forward, all balanced weight and wide shoulders as he moved. He hands were fists at his sides. His voice was rough.

"Don't be fuckin' soft, Stevie. I should be able to walk down a goddamn hallway without a break.”

Bucky stalked a formidable distance before his right leg crossed over his left. His weight shifted precariously back and forth like he wanted to pick up his foot and move but just couldn't. Steve just stood there, staring. That… by Bucky's standards, that had been insubordination, probably even open rebellion.

It hadn't occurred to Steve until that moment what Bucky's stubbornness meant, other than his discomfort. Earlier Steve had been concerned Bucky would misinterpret his comment about sweating as a command to stop an automatic, physiologic process, and now Bucky was ignoring actual commands.

Steve jerked into motion, practically chasing Bucky down the hallway. He wanted to kiss Bucky's jaw and his brow and his lip. He wanted to get on his knees and suck Bucky's dick. He wanted Bucky to know what he'd just done was good. He wanted Bucky to feel good.

Steve stopped grinning when he got close enough to Bucky's hunched body to pick up the acrid scent of urine. Bucky didn't move from his doubled over position, his legs still twisted together, his hips thrusting in tiny, restrained motions. Instead of liquid splashing or the hurried rustle of trousers unzipping, all Steve heard was the soft sound of fabric grinding against fabric and Bucky's near inaudible moan.

Something about it tickled at the back of Steve's mind.

With startling clarity, a memory long since tucked away came to him. Bucky had been collapsed on his back in his tent, a thin sheet of canvas the only padding between his hurting muscles and foreign soil. He had asked Steve, then. He’d known he could ask Steve for anything, back then.

Steve had been just as busy as the few precious medics in their unit, seeing to the men who had been hurt under his command. It was dark by the time Steve crawled into his tent. He’d expected Bucky to be dead to the world by then. He’d been perched on a ledge acting as marksman for so long he’d transitioned from good-natured complaining into grim-mouthed quiet. It surprised Steve when his entrance elicited a sigh of relief from the man.

“Thought you’d be asleep.” Steve moved to sit beside him, absently brushing clumped mud from Bucky’s jaw. It was hopeless. They needed to shower almost as much as they needed to rest.

“Wish I was,” Bucky answered, his tone distinctly strained. “Got a problem. You think you could figure a way I could piss without movin’ more than an inch?”

Steve wasted a second being startled before he began looking around the tent. They couldn’t waste a blanket on soaking up urine. Laundry wasn’t so easy as it had been back in Brooklyn, when Steve had been sickly enough to find himself in Bucky’s position on the regular.

“I’ll go back to the med tent, get a container,” Steve offered when no obvious receptacles presented themselves.

Bucky made a pained noise.

“They can spare one, Buck.”

“It’s gotta be _now_.”

The strain in Bucky’s voice sparked a fire in Steve's chest. It wasn’t right. They’d been on their feet for days and even in relative safety, Bucky wasn’t comfortable. He was supposed to be _resting_. When did they get to rest?

“I gotta piss. Fuck, I gotta piss.” Bucky’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears collecting on his eyelashes because he was a frustrated crier. “Fuck. _Fuck_. I’ve been waitin’ but I gotta piss right now.”

“You oughta be resting,” Steve admonished, feeling around on his waist for his canteen, only thinking so far as ‘yeah, that’s mostly empty.’ Later he’d realize it probably would have been more hygienic to just sacrifice a blanket. At least no one drank from those.

Bucky tossed his head. His hand twitched at his side, making an aborted effort towards his uniform before dropping in defeat. Steve wouldn't have been surprised if he'd managed to move it exactly an inch. His poor sergeant was too exhausted to get up, too exhausted even to hold himself, so he was laying there waiting for Steve to show up and help him, otherwise he’d wet himself.

“Steve, I ain’t playin’.”

“I know you ain't.” Steve’s hands settled on Bucky’s trousers but he paused before unbuttoning them. Bucky had done the same for Steve a dozen times, but Steve had always been half conscious with flu or pain. It felt strange to be on the other side of it.

With unpracticed gentleness, he began to free Bucky from the confines of his trousers. The material was worn and soft under Steve’s hands. When he reached inside it was damp.

A hot surge wet Steve's fingers as soon as he pulled back Bucky’s underwear. Bucky whined, “Christ, I _gotta_.”

Steve guided Bucky’s penis to the mouth of his canteen. Liquid pattered against metal at once, then stopped. Bucky was so full he was leaking, but he was still waiting for Steve's go ahead.

“Let ‘er rip, Sarge.”

Piss poured, hissing lewdly into the canteen. Bucky hadn’t even opened his eyes. He either trusted Steve that much or he just couldn’t hold it anymore. Either way, Bucky let loose a stream of thankful curses as his bladder started to empty and the canteen filled.

They had to stop and empty the canteen twice before Bucky was finished. The second time Bucky managed to fall asleep in the minute it took Steve to return to the tent. He had to wake Bucky up to remind him that he still had to piss. Steve knew the blankets would end up wet if he let Bucky fall asleep, but it still made his heart twist to wake him like that.

Bucky had been too groggy to understand, Steve remembered. He kept moaning how bad he had to piss while Steve held the waiting canteen against the head of his cock. He’d thought he was wetting the bed when he lost it, even as his stream gushed neatly into the canteen. The little sob Bucky had made when he’d started to piss for the third time still stuck painfully in Steve’s memory.

In some ways Bucky hadn’t changed at all. He still pushed himself to every brink.

Steve already had the empty water bottle in his hand when he reached Bucky in the hall. He lifted it, raising an eyebrow in question.

Bucky grimaced. He shook his head sharply once.

“It's up to you,” Steve said. “I was just hoping...”

When Steve didn’t continue, Bucky sounded wary, “What?”

"Well, I was hoping you’d let me suck you a little after.”

Bucky’s head snapped up. His lips were bitten raw and wisps of stringy hair were sticking to his cheek.

Three canteens, Steve remembered. That was how huge Bucky’s bladder had been _before_ he’d been trained to push himself past every one of his limits. One bottle wasn’t gonna do it, and pouring it out to make a puddle had to be just as likely to trigger Bucky as pissing straight on the floor was.

Steve was still a strategist at heart.

“Don’t feel like you need to humor me.” Steve met Bucky’s gaze. “I just wanna make you feel good. If I’m making you feel bad by asking, you say so.”

Bucky looked away. “You don’t make me feel bad."

“Good.” Steve's heart beat too fast in his chest, a shot of adrenaline running through his system.

Bucky's teeth clicked together audibly and he breathed in sharply through his nose. Whatever he'd been meaning to say, his body wouldn't let him. Distress was visible in his posture. His metal hand hovered over his abdomen as if to protect it. Steve waited while Bucky fought against his body. He was struck again by how much self-control it must have taken. Even as he was thinking that, Bucky forced himself to meet Steve’s gaze, his brow glistening with renewed sweat. He wet his lips before he tried to speak again.

"Just. Now ain't such a good time, Stevie."

“You worried you’re gonna piss in my mouth if I suck you now?”

Bucky grimaced, ducking his head. “You don't gotta rub it in.”

“I know you're hurtin'. I still wanna blow you. If that gets you pissing your brains out, well then that's my fault, isn't it?"

Bucky opened his mouth. He closed it. He didn't make a sound.

It wasn’t like Steve thought what he was offering was real _normal_ , but he could still feel the blush warming his face. It surprised him, how much he wanted to do this for Bucky.

"Goddammit, Steve." Bucky very nearly whined, which had Steve's lips quirking even as he blushed.

"You wanna feel good, Buck?”

"Yeah, but." Bucky bit his lip. "Just. Okay, why don’t we switch? I’ll suck you instead, huh?”

That wasn't going to work for several reasons, the least important of which was, Steve knew, the one that had his face falling. Through Bucky's own single-minded determination, giving oral didn't trigger him like it once had, but he also didn't love it like Steve loved it. Steve _fucking loved it_. He loved nestling between Bucky’s muscular thighs with the most sensitive part of Bucky wrapped in the protective heat of his mouth. He loved taking Bucky's cock in and sucking on it until Bucky had come too many times and he was soft in Steve’s mouth, and Steve could cradle him, lick him, kiss him, breathe him in.

Which wasn’t the point, Steve reminded himself firmly.

Bucky was already acquiescing. “Not for too long, okay? We've got a job to finish.”

Steve nodded eagerly. “Yeah?”

“If you wanna.”

Steve _wanted_. “You're so goddamn generous, Buck, letting me have what I want.”

"I know," Bucky grumbled, which had Steve snickering as he dropped to his knees.

Before he wedged himself between Bucky's legs, Steve set the bottle where Bucky could see it, a silent invitation. Bucky's hand was still clenched in the fabric of his crotch, blocking Steve's access, so he started on the taut muscles of Bucky's thighs first. It wasn't exactly a hardship, kneeling at Bucky's feet, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his thighs, his pelvis, the quivering muscles of his stomach. Steve untucked Bucky's shirt so he could run his hands freely over Bucky's abs and flank. He cupped the heavy weight in Bucky’s lower stomach with his palm.

Bucky never broke quick. Didn't know how. He widened his stance to accommodate Steve even as his legs shook. His whole body was stiff and it was driving Steve mad. Bucky wasn't comfortable and Steve was _right there_. Still Steve waited, feeling the tension ripple through Bucky’s body as his overfull bladder punished him. They were moving a little, like a ship rocking. Bucky must have been bobbing up and down just the tiniest fraction.

Steve breathed in the heat of their bodies when he rested his head on Bucky's tense thigh. He played his fingers over the back of Bucky's hand in a silent request, feeling the straining muscle and bone as he did. With a bit off groan, Bucky moved his hand. His pants were creased from all the squeezing. Steve moved his lips along the desperate length of Bucky's cock through the fabric. Under Bucky's shirt, Steve could feel the contracting spasm of his bladder. He flicked open the button of Bucky's fly.

"Wait. Steve, wait." A frantic note crept into Bucky's tone. When Steve looked up he could see the sweat rolling down Bucky's neck, the back of his hand pressed to his lips. Bucky swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Can I. First."

"Course you can. Of course." Steve was already freeing Bucky from his trousers. The zipper pulled down to reveal a curly swatch of hair, damp with sweat, and the sweet length of Bucky’s cock. In the half-second it took Steve to reach for the bottle, Bucky thrust his hand into his crotch, grabbed his dick, and squeezed.

His _left_ hand.

"Hey, hey." Steve's heart rate skyrocketed. He'd seen Bucky crush skulls with that hand. "You'll hurt yourself."

"'m sorry."

"Come on, pal. You don't gotta do that."

Bucky's metal fingers were as unyielding as every other muscle in his body. There was no fabric to protect Bucky from himself, the vulnerable length of his penis clamped in the vice of his metal hand. It would have been impossible for him to pee past that kind of clamping pressure, so Steve was surprised when a drop of urine collected on Bucky's urethra.

He'd already been leaking, Steve realized. His cock had been full of piss when he'd clamped his hand around it. The knowledge made Steve want to be gentle.

"Come on and piss, Bucky. Ease up. It's fine."

As Steve angled the empty bottle for him, he covered Bucky's metal hand with his own. The metal was immobile while the rest of him shook with stress. It hurt Steve just to look at him, the contrast between sensitive pink skin and shining robotics. Christ, his poor guy.

Bucky’s breathing went deep and ragged just as the fat drop of piss became heavy enough to drip from his urethra. It rolled over the head of his cock and was promptly caught by the lip of the bottle.

"That's good," Steve soothed Bucky's wild-eyed panic. "There you go. Easy."

Bucky gathered himself enough to make a passable attempt at a glare before his body shuddered, his stomach flexed, and another gush of urine splashed inside the bottle. The metal hand _squeezed_. Steve grimaced. Shit, shit, shit. Then Bucky looked between the bottle, and Steve, and the bottle. His curled fingers made a mechanical sound, as if considering.

"Yeah, c'mon. Hey, sergeant. Let ‘er rip."

When Bucky breathed out it was a sound of pure relief. His muscles unlocked and he was pissing. A powerful torrent flooded the bottle. Bucky melted, his head tipping back even as his face remained lined with tension. Helpless with affection, Steve leaned in to kiss the exposed strip of Bucky’s upper thigh.

His ear was so close to the bottle that Bucky’s relief sounded thunderous. Hours of piss splashed out. Steve didn't even know how many hours. The bottle grew warm and heavy as he held it steady.

"That's it. Let it out. That's good. That's… That's almost full.” Bucky's body was blasting piss into the bottle much faster than Steve had expected. He kept his voice calm, prepared to assure Bucky that no, he didn’t have to stop, and no, he wouldn’t be punished, and _no_ , he wasn’t an animal.

For half a second, Bucky looked wild. He looked like a man about to say ‘fuck this, I just need to piss.’ It was only when Bucky’s expression shuttered and his powerful stream dribbled to a stop that Steve realized how much he'd wanted to hear that. The notion of Bucky asserting his needs had reached something close to fantasy levels in Steve’s mind.

It wasn’t so unexpected. Sometimes when Bucky said ‘I’m hungry’ in that carefully toneless voice of his they’d make a meal large enough to feed a medium sized army together and then Bucky would let Steve suck on his cock under the table while he ate.

Steve capped the bottle and set it aside. He took a moment to look at the dilute urine filling it. Sure, he thought. Sure, he could handle that.

Bucky couldn't handle it, however much was still contained in his body, so Steve would.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned out loud, clearly discovering what Steve had known all along: one bottle wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close.

As Steve was realizing there was a flaw in his strategy--of course Bucky could stop midstream; of course it wasn't going to be as easy as wrapping his lips around Bucky's still pissing cock--Bucky was collapsing away from him. A genuine expression of panic flickered over Bucky's features. His metal arm struck out behind him before he collapsed into the wall, supporting his weight as his body contorted. His legs crossed and re-crossed, his thighs pressed together, his knees bent, and none of it made the panic fade from his face.

Bucky may have been able to stop, but now that the floodgates had opened he was barely holding on, a fresh sheen of sweat covering every inch of visible skin. All at once Bucky broke into a moan and started to struggle, shifting his weight, jerking his hips, moving back and forth and side to side and up and down, his cock still untucked from his pants and bouncing as his body tried everything to contain itself.

It shouldn't have been cute, but Steve couldn't help how the affection curled up in his chest anyway. Bucky was literally bouncing on the spot. He stomped his heavy combat boots, doing a pee dance that Steve didn’t think he’d seen even when they were children. Bucky's bladder may have been made from vibranium, but anything would crack under too much pressure, and the distinctive way Bucky was beginning to shake apart said his breaking point had been about five minutes ago.

It was automatic for Steve to reach out, either to comfort or to help. When he rested his hand on Bucky’s hip he wasn't surprised to feel that Bucky's trembling had only gotten worse. No longer the restrained soldier, Bucky was radiating distress in surround sound. Steve didn’t doubt he was trying to maintain the same control as before, but stopping midstream with no promise of further relief was an intense tease on his abused bladder.

Beneath Steve's hands, Bucky froze unexpectedly. A bead of urine pooled on the tip of his dick.

Well. Steve had already committed to it.

Reaching his left hand up to grab Bucky's right, Steve settled himself between Bucky's feet. He nestled between Bucky's thighs until he could nuzzle the base of Bucky's cock with his nose. When he drew back he let his tongue roll along the underside of Bucky’s cock, from hilt to tip, lapping the head clean.

Bucky stood stock still--probably didn’t want to slap Steve in the face with his dick from bouncing--but his muscles quivered against Steve's cheek and he let out a tiny sound that could have been pleasure or could have been pain. Another flick of Steve's tongue over his slit broke him. He doubled over and his tender belly brushed Steve's head.

The added pressure was too much. Bucky's whole body jerked like he was seizing, each muscle contracting one after another. The hand holding Steve's squeezed so hard his bones might have touched. Bucky's metal hand moved towards his cock.

Steve moved just fast enough to swallow Bucky's dick before metal fingers bumped against his cheek.

The first burst of Bucky's piss wet his tongue. Steve hummed a pleased noise at the metal fingers touching his cheek, satisfied that he'd protected Bucky from the too powerful grip of his own hand. The vibration must have been a tease Bucky's bladder couldn't take because Steve felt his cock spurt again.

Steve swallowed and Bucky cried out, a pleasure-pain sound that twisted Steve's heart and his gut. Bucky's piss was mild and warm. Steve was startled to find it didn't taste awful, though he wouldn't have cared if it had. He suckled a little, but there was nothing more.

Sucking and hollowing his cheeks, Steve flexed his tongue against the underside of Bucky's cock. Bucky shook like a leaf in the wind. Still Steve didn't elicit the hard stream he'd been expecting. Bucky’s cock twitched. He didn't lose control. He groaned, and it mostly wasn't in the pleased way he usually did when Steve was wrapped around his cock.

Steve had never backed down from a challenge before. Sucking Bucky's cock was Steve's _favorite_ kind of challenge.

His hands framed Bucky's pelvis, his fingertips pressing lightly where Bucky's bladder was straining and full. Steve didn't know when, but at some point this had transformed from a kindness he wanted to do for Bucky into something more selfish, something Steve wanted all on his own.

Steve made a small noise of frustration around the cock in his mouth, then sucked hard. His hand rested on Bucky’s quivering abs where he pressed urgently, trying to convey the message that it was all right, that Bucky was allowed, that Steve _wanted_ this, perhaps too much. Bucky wasn't hard in Steve's mouth, his body too wound up in the needs of his bladder, but Steve was starting to be.

Bucky was tapping his shoulder frantically.

Concerned, Steve pulled off. Bucky's cock came out of Steve's mouth pissing. A powerful splash of urine soaked the front of Steve’s uniform.

Every one of Bucky's muscles went taut. The stream stopped for half a second, then burst right back out at full force again, leaving Bucky moaning in distress and Steve doubly soaked.

Steve wiped his hand over his now damp collarbone, confused. “Not good?”

“That was an accident,” Bucky blurted, eyes wide and red rimmed as his hand swept to clutch his penis again. The right hand, this time, thank fuck. “I swear I was trying not to, but I just. It just came over me all of a sudden.”

There was shame in Bucky's tone and in the downward twist of his lips. It made Steve's heart hurt. It made him want to take Bucky back in his mouth and massage his abdomen until he pissed himself dry. He looked up and met Bucky's dazed blue eyes. He didn't back off an inch, his chin brushing Bucky's pelvis.

"You don't gotta try not to."

"I…" Bucky paused to shiver, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers flexing against Steve's cheek. When he spoke again his voice was strained. “I'm not an animal.”

He didn’t sound so sure of himself this time.

“You're not.” Steve pressed his mouth to back of Bucky's hand, kissing each knuckle. “You got manners, Bucky Barnes. You always have.”

Bucky made a noise like he was gonna argue, but he gasped instead, the air ripped from his lungs. His hand came away to grab onto Steve's hair, and his soft cock jerked against Steve’s cheek, but he didn’t leak a drop, because Bucky Barnes had _manners_.

Steve drew his finger down the length of Bucky's cock. He set his jaw.

"I know you've gotta piss real bad. You're being generous, Buck, standing here and letting me take what I want instead. I wouldn't ask you not to pee when you needed to. That’d be rude of me.”

That drew a hitching noise that could have been laughter from Bucky. “You're a rude little punk, Rogers.”

“Not rude.” Steve leaned in, nuzzling the base of Bucky’s penis. “Not little.” He sucked gently on Bucky's skin. “Definitely a punk.”

"Steve…"

Steve drew back an inch, letting his head rest against Bucky's thigh as doubt crept over him for the first time.

“You a no?” Steve was so certain of what he wanted to do for Bucky. Maybe too certain? Bucky wasn't necessarily gonna agree, even if he did tend to indulge Steve as a rule.

It was obvious now that even if Bucky said Steve couldn't suck him, he was still going to pee right there on the floor. He was at the end of his rope. If that was how it was, Steve would do everything he could to make sure that Bucky didn't associate that to anything traumatic.

That wasn't what he wanted, though. What he _wanted_ was to take Bucky's cock back in his mouth.

Bucky wasn't saying anything, his whole body rigid. He leaned harder into the wall, the fingers of both hands gripping the drywall. Only one made a hole. It didn't seem to matter how still he held himself: he was shaking apart. Hot piss dribbled from his cock, two droplets falling to soak somewhere into Steve's uniform.

“Steve. Fuck.” Bucky's voice had gone shaky. He swallowed visibly, a shine collecting in his dazed blue eyes. "You can't. I can't."

Whatever he couldn't do, Bucky couldn't finish saying it either. His face blanched white, lines of stress deepening around his eyes and his mouth parting in a silent groan. His metal arm made a yearning motion towards his cock, and this time Steve reached out and threaded his fingers with Bucky's metal ones. Bucky looked devastated. The muscles of his stomach contracted and relaxed and his face twisted up. All of that struggling, and a tiny sprinkle of urine erupted out of him, hardly enough to fill a thimble. Bucky's lips parted as if to speak, but his expression collapsed before he could and a moan was torn from his throat.

Steve was _fed the fuck up_.

"Please, Bucky?" He should have been embarrassed at how whiny his voice came out. He wasn't. He just wanted to take Bucky in his mouth and suck and swallow until Bucky was boneless and satisfied. Steve was so close his breath was brushing Bucky's cock. "Can you let me take care of you? I wanna make you feel good. I want that so much. You gonna let me?"

In response, Bucky's metal hand squeezed Steve's. It was--gentle. Bucky was so afraid to touch him with that hand, and here he was being so gentle even when he could hardly control himself. He held Steve's hand, seeking reassurance or perhaps just balance as another leak spurted from his cock. Steve couldn't help it when he flicked his tongue out and licked the evidence away. Bucky let out a hitching gasp. Then:

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Steve? Okay. Please."

Steve's lips were already wrapped around him. Bucky didn't make a sound when he started to piss. Steve wasn't sure he even knew he was doing it. Every muscle in his body was like a live wire, but his cock, surrounded by the wet heat of Steve's mouth, was gushing its relief. Steve swallowed. Under his hand, Bucky was still shivering. It wasn't the boneless relief Steve wanted to give him. Bucky didn't let his mouth fall slack or his head tilt back. Even as he pissed full force down Steve’s throat, Bucky was desperately trying to control himself.

Steve suckled. He swallowed Bucky up to the hilt, his nose buried in the curly hair around Bucky cock. He moved his left hand up to feel Bucky's stomach, circling the indentations of his abs with his fingers and pressing firmly where Bucky's bladder was distended and aching. Bucky's stream may have spilled more powerfully, but Steve could hardly feel it with Bucky's cock down his throat. Still Bucky wasn't relaxing; the worried wrinkles across his forehead weren't smoothing out. He still didn't _feel good_.

They were still holding hands. Steve yanked on the metal arm. Bucky jolted and made eye contact. He looked hazy but not blissed out, and Steve was gonna fix it.

If Steve had tried to smile--or worse, speak--Bucky would have been pissing everywhere. Instead, he squeezed Bucky's metal hand, slow and deliberate, and let Bucky look into his eyes. They'd always been able to do that, to look at each other and just _know_.

When Bucky let go of his hand, Steve experienced a moment of disappointment. It was a short moment. Bucky slumped bonelessly against the wall. His head tipped back, his eyelashes fluttered, and his lips parted to a long, low sound. Bucky's fatigued, rigid body liquified under Steve's efforts, pissing tension out as his bladder emptied.

Finally, finally Steve had managed to make Bucky feel good, and he didn't think he could feel any better himself in that moment.

When Bucky tapped Steve's shoulder this time, it was slow and exhausted. The deluge had shortened into quick bursts, and then Bucky's cock had started to harden and lengthen under Steve's efforts.

Bucky's metal fingers pushed through Steve's hair in a motion that was a polite request for Steve to pay attention, and Steve realized belatedly he'd ignored Bucky's tapping. He drew back then, but he may have whined as the wet length of Bucky's cock drew past the warm protection of his lips, leaving Bucky cruelly exposed to the cool, dry air.

Unreasonably annoyed at having his cocksucking session cut short, Steve tucked Bucky's penis back into his pants and cupped his hand over the whole of Bucky's crotch.

"How we doin' now?" Steve was not unaware of the way Bucky's pelvic muscles were beginning to clench up again under his hand. Making Bucky feel good was a constant challenge, and Steve had been so goddamn _bored_ without him.

Who knew how long either of them would live, with the serum and the state of the world, but if Steve could spend it making Bucky Barnes feel good, he'd be damn happy with his life.

"I'm sorry," Bucky finally said. His voice hadn't reverted to the familiar monotone, but he sounded wrecked. "I'm sorry, Stevie. I was tryna. But I couldn't. And I thought you--"

"You thought right." Steve squeezed a little. Bucky's cock was so sensitive that even that drew a strangled gasp out of him. "You let me do exactly what I wanted to. Because you're _generous_ , Buck."

Bucky groaned. "Okay. If you… but I'm sorry."

“Well, stop it." Steve nudged him. "I’m telling you, I didn’t _mind_. I’m about as far from minding as I can get.”

“You don’t... mind. You don't mind sucking on my soft prick while I fucking piss myself in your mouth. That’s. You oughta be--you oughta--” Bucky ran out of steam there, and Steve could guess why. Bucky knew what his captors, his owners, would have done if he'd pissed on the floor. The punishment for _this_ had to be worse. But Bucky didn't know what Steve ought to do. Because Steve had always, only, ever loved Bucky Barnes, and Bucky damn well knew it. He finished quietly: “Oughta at least start shouting.”

“I only shout when things aren't going my way.” Steve was gripping Bucky a little closer to him, his head resting on Bucky's thigh with one hand curled around the muscle of Bucky's ass. He kept his other hand cupped protectively over Bucky's crotch. He'd be cold if Steve moved his hand, Steve rationalized. He didn't want his guy to be cold. So what if he was fondling the head of Bucky's cock a bit too? “You let me treat you right, and that's exactly what I want. Got nothing to shout about.”

Bucky's breath hitched when Steve's thumb circled his piss slit.

"We still all good?" Steve asked.

Bucky huffed a noise somewhere between annoyed and resigned. His hand came to cup the back of Steve’s head, pulling him in.

Immensely satisfied, Steve got to work making Bucky come until he couldn't anymore.

He had to stop when Bucky's legs gave out. He didn't want to--he was sure he could make Bucky come at least twice more, and what was preternatural strength for if you couldn't hold your best friend up against the wall while you sucked him off? But Bucky smacked him lightly in the head when Steve tried to hold him up and Steve gave in with bad grace, curling himself into Bucky's body so they collapsed in a tangle of supersoldier limbs.

"Kiss your face?" Steve asked, only half coherent at that point. His erection was tenting his uniform.

"No," Bucky moaned, dropping his head and hiding it against Steve's shoulder.

"Aw." Steve ran a clumsy hand over Bucky's scalp. "Touching okay?"

Bucky nodded a little, which was a relief. Steve might have cried if he weren't allowed to hold Bucky right then.

“Thanks. Thank you. You're so good to me, huh?”

"Steve," Bucky very nearly whined, drawing a grin out of Steve.

" _Buck_."

Steve was rocking them a little as his hand moved over his own erection. His uniform wasn't exactly convenient for getting off, but it wasn't exactly designed for that either, no matter what Bucky said about the tight suit. He didn't want to strip all the way down just to jerk himself off. Coming inside the suit wasn't the brightest idea either, but right then it felt worth it. Or it did until Bucky made a muffled noise against his shoulder that sounded less blissed out than Steve had been hoping for and more uncomfortable.

Steve stilled all at once. "Am I making you feel bad?"

Bucky shook his head.

Steve frowned. He nudged at Bucky a couple times, and then a couple more, until Bucky was starting to look more annoyed than hesitant. "What?"

"I." Bucky paused, licked his lips, and started again. "I still gotta."

Steve blinked, parsing that. He knew Bucky could piss for something like two minutes. He didn't know how long he'd been on his knees. But of course. Of course Bucky had stopped when he could get control of himself. That was--for a moment Steve experienced a flare of strange, out of place _betrayal_ , but it died away as soon as Bucky started to tense up in his arms.

"What do you need?'

Bucky shifted. He glanced at Steve from beneath his hair. "Just don't... shout, I guess."

Cock pinched between his fingers at an uncomfortable looking angle, Bucky starting pissing _again_. This time a puddle formed on the floor.

Steve wasn't sure how his emerging perversions had helped, exactly, but the fact that they had made his chest feel light and airy. Bucky was letting himself go and he didn't look pained; he wasn't lost somewhere in the past where the man behind him was holding a stun baton. He was pissing and he was relaxing, the knots of his muscles loosening as he leaned into Steve.

Steve watched his stream with a numb kind of awe. It was no less obviously strong despite the amount he'd already been relieved of. Steve found he couldn't stop talking as he rubbed himself through his uniform. "You're so good, Bucky, lettin' me do what I wanted with you, even when you needed to piss so bad. You needed to piss so bad, Buck. Christ. You don't gotta hold it. You never gotta hold it like that. Just, ah--"

Steve came before Bucky had finished pissing.

"You really do like that," Bucky observed, the torrent of his seemingly endless piss beginning to dribble off into spurts. Even as Steve blushed, he was relieved to feel Bucky cuddled calmly against him. Bucky's tone was less carefully blank and more curious.

"I guess I really do? I just… I want you to feel good." Steve shrugged helplessly. He felt a little dumbstruck now that Bucky was beginning to relax. He never hesitated when Bucky needed him. It was only after that Steve tended to stumble.

"It'd make me feel good," Bucky said, "to send this fuckin' place up in flames."

Steve squeezed him. "Piss on it and set it on fire. That was always the plan, right?"

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"Can I kiss you." Bucky's metal fingers brushed against Steve's lips. His blue eyes peeked out from behind sweat-damp hair, clear and unafraid for now. "Here."

Steve began to grin. "Course you can."


End file.
